


moon triplet

by ninemoons42



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Feels and Smut, Fluff and Smut, Inspired by Fanart, Inspired by Twitter, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Self-Indulgent, Self-cest, Shameless Smut, Threesome - M/M/M, he gets to have both 20something and 30something Noctis at once, lucky lucky lucky floof, lunar convergence, prompto is the filling in a noctis sandwich, super blue blood moon 2018, that's it that's the setup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-11 20:43:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13532184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninemoons42/pseuds/ninemoons42
Summary: On a singular night in Insomnia, Prompto sees Noctis in an entirely new light.(That probably has something to do with the fact that there's *two* of Noctis in the bed.)





	moon triplet

**Author's Note:**

> I have no apologies. I have no excuses. I have no shame. ^____^
> 
> Hey, fuck knows when we're gonna see a super blue blood moon again. So I'm gonna write something to remember it by. And if it leads me to do something this self-indulgent, so much the better!
> 
> (Visual inspiration: [click [implied nsfw]](https://twitter.com/oKOKAo/status/958304944150294528))
> 
> ////
> 
> (Not related to [storm triplet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14586141) except for the idea of one Prom and two Nocts in bed. :D)

“There is no need to worry,” Ignis is saying, with his hand heavy and sure and gentle on Prompto’s shoulder, as if to anchor him and keep him from flying off, borne away on his jittering fears. 

Wide bed before them and in it, the harsh rapid quick breaths of Noctis. Strange moonlight falling onto him, dark red like rust eating away at iron, dark red like -- Prompto squeezes his eyes shut and still has to swallow hard, so he doesn’t follow that train of thought through -- 

“He isn’t running a temperature. He doesn’t seem to be in much pain.” Ignis is so steady and so calm, or at least his words are. 

The fact that he’s leaning slightly in Gladio’s direction, however, tells Prompto something else entirely.

So he envies Gladio, too, who only reaches out to ruffle Noctis’s dark hair before muttering, “Anything changes in him, you call us before you call emergency services. Got it?”

“Got it,” Prompto mutters.

And he reaches out to both of them, and squeezes their hands that they offer to him in parting: and Ignis nods, firm-eyed, while Gladio says, “You got this. He’ll be fine.”

Distantly he sees them recede from him, red-touched outlines in the shadows of Noctis’s apartment, and then the door closes on them and clicks with finality -- locks being sprung -- and now he’s alone.

The movement out of the corner of his eye makes him start: but it’s only the clouds slashing across the weird face of the moon. Some kind of astronomical event, he thinks, vaguely. No way of dredging up the details when he’s so focused on Noctis’s hair, styled spikes gone limp on the pillows. The huddled curve of him, where he’s curled around a pillow. 

Prompto can’t help but brush his fingertips over Noctis’s forehead. Ignis is right, though; Noctis isn’t even anywhere near feverish, despite the rapid breathing, despite the persistent lines radiating from the corners of his eyes. 

But he is a little warm, and damp around the hairline: and that makes Prompto think of the makeshift little things he’d done when he’d had to nurse himself through some nasty withdrawals.

(The less he thinks about those pain-twisted hours, the better for him and for everyone else. Don’t think about it, he tells himself, don’t don’t don’t.)

“I’ll be right back,” he says, very softly.

And he bolts for the closet, and the shelves on which the towels are stored. Here is a washcloth, just the size he needs, and he trips over to the bathroom and flicks a light on, and -- winces.

He looks like he’s been holding back tears, which is exactly what he feels like, and there are too many worry lines around his mouth and in his forehead and he forces himself to take a deep breath. Forces himself to wash his face. Cold cold water, enough to make him gasp: he runs the hot tap, too, just for a moment, just enough to avoid shocking Noctis, and as soon as the water reaches a more soothing temperature he soaks the washcloth thoroughly, rippling water-song running past his cupped hands and splashing into the sink. 

Washcloth wrung to a soft dampness and he folds it into a neat pad, and he leaves the bathroom light on so he doesn’t have to fall over anything as he makes his way back to the bed.

And Noctis is no longer visible under the covers: he’s managed to huddle into the bed completely, not even a strand of his hair sticking out.

Had he taken up so much space in the bed before? Prompto wonders. 

Soft groan, issuing from somewhere in the middle of the bed, and Prompto forgets the idle thought. Reaches out to -- maybe it’s a shoulder, he thinks, beautifully rounded and completely masked in the thin blankets. Shakes, gently. Calls his name. “Noct.”

“ -- Prom. It’s you. Right?”

“Yeah.” There’s something off, now, about Noctis’s voice: deeper, throatier. 

No, not just that.

Older.

He tries to push the thought to the back of his mind. “Let me help,” he says, instead.

“Feels like I’ve been going ten rounds with an ayakashi, really,” is the response.

“What?”

Prompto drops the washcloth.

Because the question had been on his mind: but it had been spoken in Noctis’s voice.

In Noctis’s _normal_ voice, the voice that Prompto heard outside school every morning, rough with the lack of sleep, rough with another long night’s exhaustion. The same voice that would turn quiet and almost gentle, warm and rich, as the day went on.

“Hey, you’re awake,” the deeper voice says.

“’Cause you talked. Like. You wanna keep it down?” the higher voice grouses. 

“Noct?” Prompto asks.

“Yeah.”

Two voices, one response -- and Prompto thinks he needs to reach for, for the armiger, that had just recently been opened to him. Needs to reach for a weapon because clearly things have gone wrong. Two voices responding to him, in this bed where he’d deposited an unconscious Noctis himself -- one single Noctis, to be exact.

He yanks at the blankets, instead, and -- “Sweet fucking Six.”

“Warn a guy,” Noctis says.

Well, one of them, anyway.

(How, how, how, goes the mad chorus in Prompto’s brain.)

Bodies curled together in simple intimacy, back to front, and the wiry arms of one wrapped around the slender waist of the other.

The Noctis that he knows well, that maybe he’s stolen a few kisses from, scrunches up his nose and wriggles backward into the arms of the one who’s holding him.

The one who’s holding him, whom Prompto almost recognizes as also Noctis: silver strands visible in his long hair. Too many scars threading the skin of his arms, his exposed flank, his hips and legs.

Oh, and there’s not a stitch of clothing on the -- older -- Noctis.

“How,” Prompto finally makes himself say. “Um. Noct. You -- ”

“I don’t know,” Noctis, sort of _his_ Noctis, or at least the one he knows better, mutters. “But now you know why I wasn’t feeling well. Apparently this was going to happen to me. Two of me.”

“It might be the moon.” Older Noctis sounds so calm and so reasonable and also -- he sounds like one of Prompto’s deepest darkest secrets, like one of his fond little dreams.

He’s been determined to take that secret to his very grave, because what kind of chance could he have at seeing Noctis through to his future, a long way away into it? He’s a commoner, and he is what he actually is (that, too, is something he’ll never talk about). Sure he’s going to be part of Noctis’s Crownsguard, and sure the Crownsguard are sworn to dedicate their lives to their principal, and make sure he survives to have a future.

But then: Crownsguard. Just the very idea means all kinds of terrible occupational hazards, up to and including death. They swear their lives to their principal, after all. 

Prompto’s already sworn that final oath: sworn to lay down his very life if it means Noctis will live to fight another day.

“ -- about the moon?” younger Noctis is asking, when Prompto blinks and comes back to awareness -- and he lurches to the foot of the bed and sits, still staring at the two as they sit up, as they slouch reckless and comfortable against each other.

They are both looking out the windows, quiet conversation, seemingly engrossed. Somehow they are completely calm in each other’s presence. 

“You notice that’s the second full moon this month,” older Noctis says. “Sylleblossom moon, it’s called, when that happens. That’s the first thing.”

“Weird.”

“Isn’t it? Then for some reason, the moon’s at its closest point to Eos when it’s full, so it looks like it’s that much bigger, looks like it’s taking up that much more space in the sky. So that’s the second thing, and it’s called an ultima moon. And third -- ”

Blink. Blink. “How many things are we talking about here?” younger Noctis asks, and he sounds incredulous. He’s leaning intently toward his double, noses almost touching in his curiosity.

“Just three,” older Noctis laughs, softly. He doesn’t make any move to pull away. 

Prompto needs to look away, needs to look somewhere else, and he can’t -- he can’t -- 

“Okay, hit me,” younger Noctis says.

“Lunar eclipse,” is the quiet answer. “That’s why it looks red. And this is a slow one, for some reason. This eclipse will go on for two hours, three if we’re lucky.”

“Sylleblossom -- ultima -- eclipse -- moon?” And younger Noctis laughs, and laughs, and collapses back onto the bed. “That sounds like some stupid made-up attack move or something.”

“It does. And that’s the only reason I can think of, as to why I’m here. No complaints, before you get the wrong idea. I’m just surprised is all. It’s very strange, seeing -- well, you’re me, aren’t you?”

“Or I’m you, whatever, I refuse to think about it, I’m gonna make myself sick for real. Just don’t want to think about it.”

“Fair enough. So, I won’t ask you. Prom? What do you think? You think it might be the moon?” 

“Um,” Prompto says, and he wants to smack himself and he dives into the blankets instead, and wishes he could disappear. “Meep.”

“What,” and there is rustling, there are hands on his shoulders. A warm laugh falling onto him, and he closes his eyes and he doesn’t resist: that’s a pointless thing, anyway, since he can’t not give in to Noctis.

Who is lifting him up and who is shaking him, very gently. Hands on his shoulders. “Hey, come on, you can answer him, or -- are you actually okay? What’s on your mind?”

“You really don’t want to know,” and Prompto’s voice cracks halfway through the sentence and now he really, really wants to run away and never show his face in this apartment ever again. 

Since he can’t do that, he buries his face in his hands instead. “Please don’t ask me again.”

“I can still ask,” and that’s the older Noctis speaking, now. “You told him, and you didn’t tell me. Prom.”

He groans, softly. Knows his words are muffled when he says, “Please don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Please don’t make me say it. Not out loud,” he pleads.

Silence. 

It stretches on for several heartbeats.

“Okay. Not to say it. Okay,” says the Noctis who’s holding him. “Not to say it, but, what about this?”

He sounds so tentative and so -- hopeful? Enough that Prompto looks up and -- 

Smile like the sweet curve of the moon, radiant, pulling him in: and Noctis is kissing him, very gently.

He sighs, and lets himself kiss back: because maybe he’d imagined that Noctis had been leaning into those other kisses, the ones Prompto has stolen from him. 

But he can’t imagine anything about this kiss, not when Noctis is sifting his fingers through his hair, not when Noctis is humming encouragement into the kiss, not when --

Blink, blink, and Prompto opens his eyes -- when had he closed them? -- and he’s braced on his forearms above the shy grin, above the dark flush, above Noctis’s eyes blazing with warmth and welcome. 

“I guess now is the time to tell you I really like it whenever you kiss me,” Noctis laughs.

“You,” Prompto begins, and then he gives up on the words and kisses him again, instead: and maybe he still has no idea of what’s going on right here but right now all he wants is to kiss Noctis, over and over and over. To nibble at the corners of his mouth and maybe, slow slow slow, coax him open, nip at him gently and -- 

Groan, soft and smothered, from very close by.

Prompto freezes in the act of running his tongue over Noctis’s lower lip.

Looks up: and he can’t understand the expression frozen on the other Noctis’s face.

“Sorry,” and that’s his Noctis, the younger one, the one of this time, scrambling up and away and Prompto can’t do anything else but watch as he crosses the bed again and pulls his older self into his arms. “You want to tell -- me?”

“Like telling myself,” the older Noctis says. 

“Pretty much that, yeah.”

Shadows crossing that weathered face. “I -- I shouldn’t tell you where I’ve been. What I’ve been doing. Gods and fucking Astrals know you’ll get there soon enough.” Bitter brief laugh. “I just, it doesn’t make sense, I know exactly what that kiss feels like: I’ve got it in my memory, same as you’ve got it in yours now,” and his hand is clenching gently around Noctis’s upper arm. “I know exactly how you feel when Prompto steals kisses from you. And I, right now, I miss it.”

Those sad-starlight eyes, pinning Prompto down where he is. “I miss you. You, and the you I’m normally with. And that is something I shouldn’t have said, I know how this works, but I’m not sorry. I refuse to be sorry.”

_The you I’m normally with_

“Seriously,” he hears the younger Noctis say, another kind of smile suddenly appearing on his face, like the face of the moon revealed by the fleeing clouds. “Prompto and me?”

“Noctis and me. And, and you,” and Prompto can’t help but echo Noctis, and he feels like he’s shaking, all the way down to the very roots of him, to the roots of his heart and soul. “Me and you?”

“Your self, and me,” the older Noctis says. “Yeah. Seriously,” he adds, and then he’s pressing a swift kiss to the curve of the younger Noctis’s cheekbone. “A little advice from me to you. Don’t rush through the moments. And don’t fucking sleep through them either. You’ll miss out on so much.”

“I don’t intend to,” Noctis says, voice gone so low he sounds almost exactly like his older self.

They kiss, press of mouth to mouth this time.

Prompto’s never seen anything like them in his life, and -- maybe he never will, so he’s going to stare all he wants now.

And when they separate, the sweet light in the younger Noctis’s eyes changes -- grows deeper and darker and Prompto has to catch his breath.

His eyes are literally changing color: burnt gold one moment, then bright purple the next.

Faced with this, this impossible situation, these impossible words and the pure impossibility of this Noctis -- these two versions of Noctis -- Prompto doesn’t want to run.

He wants to do the exact opposite thing.

When he reaches out -- to one, to the other, to both of them -- his hands are steady, steady like he’s got a gun in his hands, its weight a natural part of him, its power a natural extension of his mind and his nerves.

He watches them exchange a look.

Watches the smile as it dawns on the older Noctis’s face -- but still, he’s so sweet, he’s _Noctis_ , because he covers that feral curve with the back of his hand and asks, “May I?”

“Go for it,” the younger Noctis says, with a wild-lit grin to match.

And that’s how Prompto finds himself being carefully drawn into an embrace that is familiar and completely strange at the same time; that’s how he touches the older Noctis for the first time, his fingers questing gently over the worn lines in his face and, impossibly, the brightness of his smile. 

“Let me?” that older Noctis asks.

Prompto shakes his head, too eagerly. “Don’t hold back. Please?”

“Since you asked so nicely.”

He tries to remember: that furrow between his brows, that immense weight of presence, the hard broad hands anchored at his hips, searing hot even through the layers of denim and cotton -- and then all those things are swept away by Noctis’s mouth on his, by the overpowering ardent demand of him.

In no time at all he’s gasping, he’s drowning, all other considerations lost as he opens his mouth to Noctis, as Noctis kisses him avidly, teeth and tongue working in concert to explore every last inch of Prompto and he thinks he can’t be afraid, can’t be overwhelmed -- he wants more more more, the growl deep in Noctis’s throat that shudders through him in the most intimate way, till he can almost taste it on his own tongue, trapped in his teeth, and when he kisses him back -- timidity falling away -- Noctis growls again, hands jerking, and Prompto suddenly remembers --

Nothing but the rust-hued moonlight on this Noctis’s skin, and only a blanket half-draped over his lap.

“Was waiting for you to notice that,” and that voice is coming from behind him, laughing, low predator’s song.

Prompto shivers, and he’s not afraid at all.

Doesn’t matter that he’s never been naked with anyone before, as the younger Noctis’s hands move swiftly over him, stripping his clothes away -- he stops Noctis only over the wristband, and he’s so grateful that Noctis, neither of him, doesn’t press the issue. 

That doesn’t matter. It can’t matter, not here, not like this, when all his world is: Noctis before him, and Noctis behind him. 

He’s safe.

He’s with them, he’s with _him_ , and that’s all he needs.

And he really, really, needs.

“Don’t -- not in my lap,” older Noctis laughs, suddenly.

“Awww, spoilsport,” younger Noctis laughs back.

“Not sorry,” one of them says, or they both say, and the world whirls away from Prompto and when he catches his breath, when he can understand again, this is what the world looks like:

Moonlight-lines all around him. It catches on the shoulder that he’s clinging to, slouched and casually proprietary, and the hand that’s on his hip, tracing maddening little circles into him. It catches on the arm wrapped around his chest, scarred rough skin, and the hand drifting dangerously close to his nipple. It catches on the younger Noctis’s smile that he only sees for one more moment before he’s leaning in towards Prompto’s throat, curve of mouth and scrape of teeth that sparks fire in his nerves. It catches on the tip of the older Noctis’s tongue, tracing damp lines on his shoulders.

The moon doesn’t illuminate their laughter, not exactly, or the wet eager sounds of them as they taste him, as they nip at him, unpredictable, wild, and Prompto breathes out on a shaky laugh: “You planning to kill me?”

“Pretty much.”

“Slowly, yeah.”

Noctis in stereo, Noctis all over him, Noctis, Noctis, Noctis -- 

“Let us hear you,” the Noctis behind him whispers, dark sweet tease. 

“Yeah, either we find out what you like or you tell us,” the Noctis before him mutters, nipping and licking with each word. “Either way: talk, unless you’re not into that.”

“I, I,” and he has to force his mind to reboot because he can, oh, gods, they’re linking arms _around_ him, they’re kissing over his shoulder, and he could never have dreamed this up, never, not even in the darkest neediest corners of his mind. “I just want to feel you, both of you, I, I don’t know how to say it -- ”

“I’ve got a pretty good imagination,” the Noctis before him says.

His kiss is like storm-strike, like lightning and the immediate crash of thunder down every last nerve, and Prompto whimpers and presses closer -- 

Cries out, shocked, when the Noctis behind him takes sweet advantage of all the back of his neck bared -- bites down just above the line of his shoulder and starts to suck, teeth and tongue worrying at him, sweet fucking Six he’s going to leave a huge mark and Prompto wants, he wants -- 

“Don’t, don’t stop,” he whines, once he can tear his mouth away from Noctis’s.

Which is sort of a mistake and sort of the best thing he’s ever done, because now the Noctis before him is tracing the lines of his throat, his collar bones, the dip over his sternum, licking avidly at him -- 

Hands! Four hands moving on his skin! He can bite back the scream when one of them plucks at one of his nipples, teasing at it till it’s erect and hot, till he’s nothing but swirling needy sparks of sensation -- but when there’s a hand over his eyes, too, blocking out all sight and the moonlight outlining their bodies against his, he can’t hold back any more: “Haaaah, _fuck_ , fuck, you -- ”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s it,” one of them says.

“You’re fucking sweet,” the other one says.

He trails off, desperately, wide-eyed behind the hand still blinding him, when he feels them both press impossibly closer. He can feel them both, gods, he’s going to die right here, trapped between them and there’s no thought of escape in his mind, not when he can feel the hot hard weight of the cock nudging into his leg, just below his ass -- and the cock that’s pressing into the meat of his thigh, right next to his own -- 

“You wanna,” he hears one of them say.

“Doesn’t have to be that. Use your imagination,” he hears the other say, words curled into lust and laughter. 

“Noct,” Prompto says, entirely involuntarily.

“Here.”

“Not that evil.”

And: “Wait, I forgot -- ”

Loss, keen, and Prompto shakes free of the hand that had been over his eyes: the moonlight falls onto the younger Noctis as he rolls over and scrabbles at his nightstand, and he can’t help but gasp -- not because of need but because of shock.

The huge scars branded into his back, thick frightening raised marks right in the center of him -- he’s heard the story but he’s never seen the actual living reality, and if he squints he can still almost see the marching lines left in him by the stitches that had been holding him together -- 

“Now you know,” and he knows it’s the older Noctis whispering, with a different kind of urgency in his voice. “Now you know, and the trick is, you have to know it’s there but never, never show him you know. Show him you care. Show him you need him. But don’t let him know that you know, until he shows it to you of his own accord.”

“I did that to you?” he whispers back.

“You did that to me. You were kind,” the older Noctis says, and Prompto whines, and turns around and kisses him, lets himself drown in his kiss -- 

“Fuck, wow,” he hears the younger Noctis say.

He also hears the tell-tale pop of a bottle cap being flipped open.

“Could watch you two all night long.”

“We don’t have that,” the older Noctis laughs, actually laughs.

Prompto kisses the tip of his nose, then.

“Hey.”

And he turns his head and kisses the younger Noctis, too, sweet peck to his cheek.

“Good, let’s get back to, to driving you insane.”

The brief immense instant of emotions is swept clean out of Prompto’s mind when he realizes that Noctis, the younger Noctis that is now behind him, is pouring cool slick onto his hands. “What, what,” he starts.

“Like this.” 

And they each take his hands, pinning him once again and moving him, and he could almost weep with relief, with the mad desire clawing at his insides, because gods, he’s being made to grasp both of them -- 

“Not too tight, good,” the older Noctis mutters, sounding like he’s gritting his teeth. 

“Little harder, here,” the younger Noctis growls. 

He’s nothing but the mindless need to do as he’s told: he doesn’t even feel the mad throb of his own pulse, all his nerve endings seemingly centered on his own cock heavy between his legs -- 

Because he’s being kissed and he’s being whispered to, and they’re moving, their bodies rocking out of rhythm against him and all Prompto can hear are their groans, their staccato breaths and their ragged curses, fucking into his fists even as they keep him trapped between them.

Trapped between them where all he can hear is his name.

“Prom -- ”

“Astrals, Prompto -- ”

He grits his teeth, wills himself to listen and not to, not to grind helplessly into them, the weight of them all around him -- 

“Hah, fuck, fuck, so close so close _Prom_!”

They’re pulling him close, they’re touching his cock too, and he’s so wound up and so helpless and so desperate and he’s completely lost in them, and all he can say is “Please please please -- ”

“Come on come on come on,” they say, broken chant, broken rhythm -- 

Moon-reflections in Noctis’s eyes, when he breaks -- when they break -- and Prompto laughs, wild delight, and he falls over his own edge, too -- 

***

Somewhere in the night he thinks he hears Noctis say: 

“Show him you care. And let him show you he cares.”

***

He wakes up to sunlight on his shoulder and a familiar body stretched out behind him, clinging to him.

Easy to say a name, then: “Noct?”

“Prom,” is the response, low hoarse murmur.

He looks over his shoulder.

His Noctis: they’re the same age, they’re of a height, and Noctis is his best friend, and last night he’d watched Noctis kiss an older version of himself. He’d been with Noctis and his older version, both of them at the same time -- 

“Can hear you thinking from here,” he hears Noctis say. “Last night was a dream. Damned good dream. Doesn’t mean it didn’t actually happen. Right? And, and I’m still here.”

“You are,” Prompto says, and he can’t help but grin when Noctis hitches him closer, as if it doesn’t matter to him that they’re naked and tangled and a little bit sticky. “And I’m still here.”

And Noctis is continuing: “Let me be here with you. Or be here with me. Whatever. Please?” That last word is small and buried in Prompto’s shoulder.

“Doof,” Prompto says, and he twists around so he can kiss Noctis, morning breath be damned. “That’s all I ever wanted, anyway.”

Noctis’s smile is brilliant, too, in the sunlight.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on Tumblr at my FFXV sideblog [@ninemoons42-lestallumhaven](http://ninemoons42-lestallumhaven.tumblr.com/) or at my main [@ninemoons42](http://ninemoons42.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
